Treason and Old Lace
by Jennifer Cannon
Summary: Lee and Amanda discover that Mrs. Murphy is up to her old tricks.  Will they be able to stop her this time?
1. Chapter 1

***The usual disclaimers apply. Special thanks to Ermintrude for being such a fantastic beta, and to Jan, Cheryl, Lynda and the girls in Wicky Chat for their help, brainstorming and support. Hope you enjoy :)***

**Treason and Old Lace-Prologue **

**First Ladies Tea Parlor, Newport News, VA**

**Saturday, January 8, 2005**

**12:30 PM**

"I'm glad you agreed to meet me here," the woman told him. "Thank you for being so punctual."

"You're—uh— you're welcome," he said.

"Would you like anything? Tea—or perhaps a biscuit?"

"No—No, I'm fine. Have to say, this ain't a regular meeting place." That was an understatement. James looked around the tearoom at the ladies—it was mostly ladies—in their fancy dresses and floppy hats. It reminded him of the way his grandma used to dress when she would go to her church socials on Sunday afternoon. The ladies stared back at him silently; the looks they gave him made him feel as if he should straighten his tie and check under his fingernails.

"Well I think you'll find that I'm not exactly a regular customer," she replied, red painted lips smiling thinly. "But I assure you that I pay very well. Were you able to get me what I need?"

"Pretty much."

"What do you mean by pretty much? Could you get it or couldn't you?"

"We could, yeah." He fumbled for the right words under her piercing gaze, trying to remember exactly what his brother had told him. "Carl said that he couldn't duplicate it exactly—there were some unknown ingredients—but he said that it should have the same effect." Part of him still wondered what she wanted it for—though he knew better than to ask—that was her business, not his. A mental image of a bunch of ladies in a tea room getting high came into his mind. James suppressed the urge to giggle.

"Since he's a chemist, I suppose he should know," the woman said. You may pass it to me now and I'll give you the money—under the table, please. I don't wish to be seen doing this."

"Right." Looking around furtively he pulled the package out of his pocket and slipped it under the table. "Now if you just give me the—" At that moment her hand clasped around his wrist. James tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron.

"You listen to me." Her lips barely moved as she spoke; pale eyes looking deeply into his own. "I had a disappointing experience with my former supplier, James—and I don't wish to be disappointed again. If you have any thoughts about double-crossing me, I'd really think again. Now, do we have an understanding?"

Just an old lady—that's what he kept thinking to himself as he looked at her—just a sweet little old lady. So why was his mouth so dry? Why did he feel the urge to get the hell out of there and never come back?

"I promise," he managed to croak out. "No double-cross—we're good."

"Excellent." And suddenly she was all smiles again. Letting go of his wrist she took the package and pressed the money into his palm.

"It's all there—feel free to count it."

"Nah, it's all right, I trust you." James placed the money into his pocket, surprised by how much his fingers were shaking. "I uh—I hope we can do business again."

The smile widened. "Oh, you may definitely count on that. Believe me."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**1789 Restaurant, Washington DC**

**Sunday, January 16, 2005**

**3:35 PM**

"Thanks for coming, Colonel Clayton," General Ham Morrison rose from the table as the colonel entered, grasping his hand in a firm handshake. "I know that this was a rather spur of the moment invitation."

"It's just fine, sir—believe me," the colonel replied. "I really didn't have any other plans."

"Good—that's good." The general took his seat once more, and the colonel took the seat across from him. "I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of the Estancia Winery Pinot Noir—I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, sir. I love a good pinot." The waiter brought the bottle, already uncorked, to their table, pouring a small amount into each glass. General Morrison took a sip.

"Excellent," he pronounced.

"Thank you," the waiter said. "Someone will be out to take your order in a moment."

"So," the general said. "How is life here suiting you? You moved here to be close to your family, correct?"

"That is correct, yes—my nephew, Lee and his family."

"And how are they doing?"

"Just fine—my great-niece is going to turn sixteen near the end of the month." And getting ready to take her driver's exam—something the colonel knew that Lee was very nervous about.

"Sixteen, wow," the general shook his head. "I can remember when my daughter turned sixteen—sometimes it seems like only yesterday. Time certainly flies, doesn't it?"

"Yes sir—it does." The colonel took a sip of the wine as he regarded his dinner companion. The darting eyes—the pressed-together lips—it didn't take an expert to realize that something was very wrong indeed. Enough beating about the bush—the colonel decided to come right out with it.

"I take it this wasn't a social invitation," he said.

The general let out a sigh. "You're correct," he admitted. "It isn't. I take it that you still do consulting work on the side?"

"From time to time, yes. Generally on matters of base security, but I have worked in other fields as well." The colonel took another sip of his wine. "What is it that you need?"

"That's the difficult part—I'm not exactly sure." A pause. "Just how well do you know Major Sterns?"

"Mark Sterns?" The colonel asked. General Morrison nodded. "Pretty well—we've coordinated on quite a few missions over the years."

"And you did do some work with Air Force Intelligence, is that correct?"

"Some. Why do you ask?"

"It's hard to say this," the general replied. "To be honest, part of me really doesn't want to believe it, but after what's been happening I don't guess I have a choice."

"Choice about what?" More silence. "Sir, what's going on?"

"In the past few weeks, secrets have been slipping out. Secrets about base security, passwords, weapons systems—lots of little things, but damaging all the same."

"And you think Major Sterns is responsible? Sir, with all due respect, that's ridiculous. The Major's a good man—he would never betray his country."

"I feel the same way," the general said. "As I said, I don't want to believe it, but a lot of these things are known only to the major and myself—and I know I'm not the leak. And look at this." He handed him a manila folder. "It's a series of bank statements over this month—an extra $500 each week. Where's it coming from?"

"I don't know." The colonel's lips thinned as he shut the folder and slammed it back down on the table. "But I'll be damned before I'd believe that man would turn traitor."

"It has happened before."

"I don't need reminding," the colonel said. "But I'm telling you, this case is different—there's just no way."

The general sighed again. "That's what I'm hoping," he told him. "What I'd like you to do is pay him a little visit—talk to him and see what you can find out about these leaks. This is the last step before I have to bring formal charges against him."

Formal charges, the colonel thought—even if they were cleared the man's reputation—along with his career prospects—could be irreparably damaged. "I'll see what I can do, sir," the colonel replied.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

***For disclaimers, see part one * **

**Treason and Old Lace-Part One**

**6211 Hidden Canyon Rd, Centreville, VA **

**Tuesday, January 18, 2005**

**11:45 AM**

"Come in, Robert," Major Mark Sterns opened the door. "This is certainly a surprise. It's been what, about five years or so?"

"About that, yeah," The colonel replied as he stepped into the foyer. "But I live just over in Rockville, so I thought I'd drop on by, see how you were doing." He kept his tone casual; the general had stressed that this was in no way a formal visit.

"Right this way," Mark led the colonel through the hallway into a spacious den. "Excuse the boxes—I only moved in last week."

"Believe me, I know all about boxes." The colonel lowered himself down onto the brown leather sofa which sat in front of a large flat screen TV. He'd thought about getting one of those for himself—he didn't watch a lot of television but that would be a nice set to kick back and watch sports on. A large basket of flowers sat on an end table beside the sofa—yellow daffodils.

"Secret admirer?" the colonel asked, pointing.

"What?" Mark stared at him in confusion for a moment. "Oh the flowers—no, that's just a welcome basket from a good friend."

"I see," the colonel said. "Have to say, the place looks pretty good."

"Well I've had help, believe me—I couldn't have gotten this far alone." Mark said.

Help—from the friend? The colonel thought of asking more about it, but he didn't want to pry—Mark's wife Donna had passed away three years ago after a long battle with pancreatic cancer—if the man wanted some female company he certainly didn't begrudge him.

Didn't he come to pry, though? Wasn't that why he was here—to figure out where these leaks might be coming from?

"Can I get you anything?" Mark asked. "Beer—Coffee?"

"Coffee would be good—two sugars, no cream."

The major nodded. "Be right back."

How should he approach this? The colonel wondered. He could go ahead and ask him straight out—though he wasn't sure how Mark might react to that. And part of him still didn't believe it—in spite of the evidence that Morrison had shown him. The Major Sterns he remembered was a good man—a patriotic man.

He had thought the same thing about Lieutenant Mauntel back in '85—a voice reminded him. And Mauntel had turned out to be a traitor after all.

Could it be the same thing?

'No', he thought, pushing those doubts into the back of his mind. 'I won't believe it—at least not just yet.'

At that moment his eyes fell on the daffodils—the basket from a very good friend, that's what the major had said. Flowers—on a sudden impulse he rose from the sofa and walked over to the table to study the flowers more closely. There it was, nestled in the middle of the flowers. The colonel picked up the small card and opened it, reading the words inside:

'A Housewarming Gift from The Soldiers' Relief Fund.' He held the card tightly—the words sent a chill through him.

Secrets getting out—like they had before. Was it all just coincidence?

Maybe he was assuming way too much.

"Beautiful aren't they?" Mark's voice sounded behind him. Putting the card back where he'd found it, the colonel turned to face his friend, who handed him a coffee.

"I've never had much of a green thumb," Mark continued. "But I have to admit they do brighten up the place a bit. So—how's retirement suiting you?"

"Pretty good," the colonel replied. "Though I have to say that it took a while to get used to. But it's good to be close to my family."

"I can understand that," Mark said. "I think that's why I bought this place instead of renting it—to have someplace to settle down when I retire. Though I'm not quite ready yet."

"Must be quite a commute to Andrews, though."

Mark shrugged. "About an hour each way," he said. "But really, I don't mind. And Estelle has offered to keep up the place if I go abroad."

"Estelle?" the colonel repeated.

Another nod. "She does part-time housekeeping for me—I was lucky to discover her."

Deep in the colonel's gut an uneasy feeling began to stir. "How exactly did you discover her?"

"Exactly—she was the one who brought me those flowers," Mark smiled at the memory. "Showed up at my door one morning—she belongs to this group that helps soldiers. We're about the same age, give or take a few—I guess you could say we hit it off."

This was starting to sound eerily familiar—the feeling in his gut intensified. "What exactly does this group do?"

"As far as I know, they basically help soldiers out with whatever needs to be done."

The same thing that Mrs. Murphy had told him that day he'd answered the door. "And Estelle helps you with the housework from time to time?"

"That's what I said, yes," Mark told him. "I've tried to pay her but she won't take anything—she says it's all—"

"—a part of her job." The colonel finished the sentence automatically. "And does she ask you a lot of questions?"

"We talk, if that's what you mean—like I said before, we've become pretty close."

"And are any of these questions about military matters?"

Mark stared. "I think you better tell me what this is about." He spoke quietly. "Tell me why you came here."

He'd already gone this far—he might as well go all the way. "I spoke to General Morrison," the colonel began. "In the past few weeks certain secrets have been leaked."

"And they think it's me?" Mark asked. "Is that it?"

"Some of the secrets are known only to you and General Morrison." The colonel told him. "And there's been money deposited in your account recently—quite a lot of money."

Mark shook his head—his fist clenched and unclenched. "I don't fucking believe this," he said. "You're actually accusing me of being a traitor? We've known each other for what—fifteen years? You really think I'd do that?"

"It's possible that you're not doing it—at least not willingly."

"Just what the hell are you trying to say?"

The colonel drew in a deep breath and let it out. "I'm trying to say that it's possible you're being compromised."

"Compromised—I'm compromised?" The major stared at the colonel as comprehension began to dawn. "You think it's Estelle, don't you? That's why you're asking me all these questions about her."

This really wasn't going well, the colonel thought—then again maybe there was no good way to approach this. He could hear the defensiveness in Mark's voice—the same defensiveness he'd felt when he'd been under Mrs. Murphy's influence. "That could be the case," he replied cautiously.

"I don't believe this," Mark said again, his voice rising slightly. "You think that I just go around spilling military secrets to just anybody?"

"You may not have a choice—if you'll just let me explain—"

"No—I don't want to hear anymore," Mark said. "And unless this is an official visit, I think you need to leave."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**4247 Maplewood Dr**

**5:10 PM **

"So you think that Major Sterns might be in the same situation that you were in with Mrs. Murphy?" Lee asked his uncle. He, Amanda and the colonel sat together at the dining room table. Outside the sky was already beginning to darken, thick flakes falling fast. The weatherman had promised at least three inches tonight, with more to come later in the week.

"That's what I'm thinking," the colonel replied. "I mean when I saw those flowers from the Soldier's Relief Fund—and the way he talked about Estelle—after that the whole thing just kind of clicked. I mean, it is a possibility, isn't it?"

Lee and Amanda exchanged glances. "It is a possibility," Amanda admitted. "We haven't had any leads on Karbala or the whereabouts of Mrs. Murphy in months—" At that moment the phone rang.

"I'll get it." Lee rose from the table and grabbed the nearby extension. "Hello?" He paused. "Yeah, she's here, Chris—just one moment." Cupping his hand over the receiver he called out. "Jenna!"

No reply. Lee raised his voice slightly. "Munchkin!"

"Dad—" Jenna's voice floated down the stairs. "Can it wait? I'm on the phone."

"Well you're on the phone down here, too," Lee told her. "And it's Chris."

"Oh." A brief silence followed. "Can you tell him I'll call him back?"

Lee let out a sigh, scraping his hand back through his hair—he took his hand off the receiver. "Chris, she's on the other line. She'll call you right back, I promise. Goodbye." With another sigh he hung up the cordless—going back over to the table he flopped back down onto chair. "It's like Grand Central Station these days."

"That's pretty typical," Amanda patted her husband's hand briefly. "I remember the boys at her age—especially Phillip. They're probably just discussing birthday stuff."

"Speaking of Jenna's birthday, what are the plans?" The colonel wanted to know.

"Dinner and a sleepover, I think." Lee said. "We'll let you know the details about the dinner later on." He didn't mention anything about Jenna getting her license; part of him still thought that she needed a little more work, but Amanda said they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. Part of him knew his wife was right, but still—the thought of his daughter out there on the road still caused a knot to form in his stomach. "But getting back to what Amanda said about Major Sterns, there is another possibility."

"That the major's a traitor?" The colonel shook his head. "No way—I can't accept that. I've known him for years. Sure, he's been through some rough times, but I can't believe that he'd ever do this."

"And the money in his account?" Amanda asked.

"It could've been planted," the colonel said. "It's happened before."

"That's true." Amanda recalled what had happened to her during the Spiderweb incident when Margaret Brock had tried to frame her as a double agent. All it took was someone with computer access and an account number to turn your life upside down; and in today's world both were surprisingly easy to come by. Karbala had never tried this tactic before, but if Mrs. Murphy was in charge Amanda wouldn't put anything past that woman—anything at all. A slight shiver ran through her body.

"You okay?" Lee spoke quietly, looking at her, his hazel eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine," she told him. "Really, I am." Amanda turned back towards the colonel. "Did you see any pictures of Estelle? Did he describe her?"

The colonel shook his head. "Afraid not—he kicked me out before I could even get that far—I guess I didn't handle it as well I could have."

"It does fit Mrs. Murphy's MO," Amanda said.

"Yeah, either her or someone who works for her," Lee replied. "She's certainly had time to build up a network. We'll talk to General Morrison and check up on the Soldier's Relief Fund—see where we can go from there."

"Let me know how it goes," the colonel said. "The major's a friend of mine—I don't want him to go down for something he didn't do."

"We'll let you know," Amanda assured him.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**6211 Hidden Canyon Rd, Centreville, VA **

**5:30 PM**

'This is ridiculous,' Mark thought.

He sat at his desk in the front room, cordless in hand, staring down at the numbers in his bank book. His account number, pin number—all in Donna's neat handwriting. He could still remember her sitting here at the desk at their old house, pen in hand as she'd written everything down.

"_Just in case you forget," she'd told him, smiling her slightly crooked smile. "You need to be able to look after yourself." _

To look after himself when she was gone—that's what she'd meant. At the time he hadn't been willing or able to accept that fact. He was hopeless with numbers; it was Donna who had handled the financial end of things. His paychecks were directly deposited in the bank and most things were automatically debited from the account. That was all Mark knew—all he needed to know.

Until now. His hand tightened around the cordless, so tightly that his knuckles were white. In his head he could still hear Colonel Clayton, telling him that money had been deposited into his account.

It was ridiculous, absolutely preposterous; the colonel must have gotten it wrong.

'So why not prove him wrong?' the nagging voice inside his head whispered. 'Call the number and see for yourself?'

Mark dialed the toll-free number—his fingers shaking as he entered the account number, followed by his pin and the last four digits of his social. The amount in his checking, minus bills, should come out to around $1500—he was pretty sure that was the correct amount. Holding his breath he waited for the automated voice to tell him the same thing.

"The amount in your checking account, is three thousand dollars and zero cents."

That couldn't be right. Mark pressed the button and the message repeated. The same amount—three thousand dollars.

"No," he whispered. The voice told him to press pound for more options—Mark did that and selected number nine to hear the most recent transactions on his account and there it was—an EFT Transaction for 500 dollars—every Monday going back a month.

Maybe he should call the bank—see if they knew the source. Except that the bank was closed right now; he'd have to wait until tomorrow to find out what this was all about.

Certain secrets—been compromised—the words seemed to swirl around in his head.

"Mark?"

The woman's voice startled him—Estelle stood in the doorway, keys in hand.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," she said. "I knocked and no one answered and I had a key so I just let myself in. I hope you don't mind."

Mark thought briefly about confronting her—asking her directly if she knew what was going on—then he stared at her face—short grey hair, her warm blue eyes and bright smile.

Of course she didn't know anything—mentally he chastised himself for even thinking such a thing. She was Estelle and she was his friend—he didn't give a damn what the colonel had thought. He stood, putting the phone down, and walked towards her. "I don't mind at all," he told her. "Sorry if I didn't answer—I was in the middle of something and I guess I didn't hear."

"Oh dear, I hope I didn't interrupt," Estelle replied.

"You didn't—trust me," Mark said. "In fact, I'm very glad to see you here."

She smiled. "Let's go into the kitchen, then. I'll make us both a cup of tea and see what I can whip up for dinner."

He returned her smile. "Sounds good."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**7:00 PM**

"So there are security weaknesses at Andrews?" Estelle Coulton asked.

Notebook and pen in hand, she sat at the kitchen table across from Major Mark Sterns. The same place she'd sat while they'd had their dinner. The soft classical music that he'd put on the stereo continued to play in the background, mingled with the hum and swish of the dishwasher. Keep the surroundings as normal as possible—that's what Mrs. Murphy had told her during training. If the victim retained any shard of memory, what they recalled was likely to be innocuous.

"Yes," the major's voice sounded like a tape being played in slow motion. "A few—nothing big, you see, but like I was explaining to the CO, these things add up."

"I see—" Estelle made a note on the pad. "And what kinds of things, exactly?"

"There were laptops left unsecured, computers not being shut down properly when people left their workstations—things like that. Little but important."

"Those are important, yes." She wasn't quite sure how that information could be used, but that wasn't her job—her job was simply to report what she discovered. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah—the papers—we caught some of the secretaries not shredding secret documents—had to reprimand them."

"Any breaches that deal with people getting on and off base?" Silence followed that—for a moment Estelle was afraid that she might have overplayed her hand. Finally he spoke.

"Security guards," he murmured. "Breaks between shifts—not always as coordinated as they could be—'specially at the front gate between the night—the graveyard shift an' the morning shift."

He was starting to slur his words together—eyes fluttering—she knew they didn't have too much time left. "Meaning that someone unauthorized could get in during that time?"

"Possible, yeah." From the expression on his face it was obvious that the idea distressed him—his hands gripped the edge of the table tightly. "We need to—need to fix that."

"Yes, we'll definitely fix that—don't worry." Estelle waited until he calmed a bit before she asked the next question. "What time do the shifts change, exactly?"

" 'Sposed to be eight o'clock, but lax on that—sometimes not until five after."

Five minutes—she didn't have to be an expert on military matters to know that was quite a sizeable breach—hurriedly she scribbled that down in the notebook. His eyes began to close. Not much time now—but maybe she had time to get at least one more question in. "Is the front gate entrance the only entrance? Mark?"

The major nodded. "Only entrance, yes—changed that after 9-11." His head drooped forward; a slight snore issued from his open mouth. Grabbing her purse and pocketing her notebook Estelle rose from the table. Standing over the man she carefully arranged his head so that it rested more comfortably on top of his arms.

"Thank you very much Major," Estelle told him.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

***For disclaimers, see Part One ***

**Treason and Old Lace-Part Two**

**Soldier's Relief Fund Headquarters, Henrico, VA**

**Wednesday, January 19, 2005**

**10:35 AM **

"Here you are, Ms. Coulton." Mrs. Murphy handed Estelle the envelope. "There's a sizeable bonus in there as well—and believe me, every penny of that was well-earned."

"Thank you," Estelle replied as she placed the cash in her purse. "I could sure use it." That was an understatement, she thought to herself. Before she'd found Mrs. Murphy and Soldier's Relief she'd been barely subsisting on social security and a small pension from her job as a secretary for the Veteran's Administration. Anything her husband had managed to save had been eaten up by the illness which had ravaged the last few years of his life and destroyed his mind—taken away the man she knew and loved and replaced him with a stranger.

"There must be something you can do." Estelle had pled with the doctors, but they all told her the same thing—that there was nothing they could do—the disease would progress and nothing would stop it. So she'd held his hand and soothed him, talked to him even when he had no idea who she was. And underneath it all had been a simmering anger and resentment.

This wasn't the way her life was supposed to be. She'd been cheated.

After his death she had tried getting other jobs—but there wasn't much available for seniors in today's market, and the few she'd been able to find had paid peanuts. That's why finding Mrs. Murphy had been a godsend. Money to pay for necessities with some left over—she'd had forgotten how good it felt. Part of her knew it was wrong, of course—sometimes Estelle even felt guilty about what she was doing but she knew that she had to look out for herself—no one else was.

"I certainly do hope you find the information useful," she told Mrs. Murphy.

At that statement the other woman's head jerked up, her pale eyes staring coldly. "That's not your concern," she said. "Your concern is simply gathering the information. The rest is irrelevant—remember that."

"Of course—I know that." Estelle was surprised to find that her voice was trembling beneath the woman's gaze. "I guess—what I was trying to say is that I hope I'm doing a good job for you."

Like magic, the hard look on Mrs. Murphy's face melted into a warm smile. "Oh dear, of course you are," she reassured her. "Believe me, we appreciate you—you're one of the best operatives we have and you're making tremendous progress with the major. I trust you've found the rewards to be adequate?"

Estelle nodded. "Yes—I've been very pleased—it's helped me tremendously."

"Good," Mrs. Murphy said. "Remember to keep your purchases small—no flashy cars, no new home—treat yourself but don't buy anything that attracts too much attention. Have you thought about investing some of your money?"

"I've thought about it but I haven't gotten around to it," Estelle replied.

"Do it," Mrs. Murphy told her. "I can give you a list of investments which are tax-free."

"Very good." Estelle's gaze fell on a photo on Mrs. Maxwell's desk—a large ginger cat—her pet, she assumed, though she didn't know much about her employer's personal life. There weren't any other pictures that she could see—if Mrs. Maxwell had any other family, they weren't represented here.

"Is there anything else you need?" Mrs. Murphy's voice brought her back to the present." Any more questions?"

"No," Estelle answered quickly. "No, I'm fine."

Mrs. Murphy nodded. "Very good. I'll see you next week then—same time. Keep up the good work."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**14617 Cheverly Court****, Centreville, VA**

**11:35 AM**

Stock, bonds, Swiss bank accounts—so many places to put your money, Mrs. Murphy thought. She sat on the sofa, looking through the papers she'd collected from the bank earlier as she sipped her tea, letting the sweet-hot liquid trickle down her throat. Her radio played in the background—Ruth Ettings singing 'Try a Little Tenderness'. A bit before her time, but still such a beautiful melody. Mr. Whiskers meweled softly as he pushed his head against her hand.

"Right, get up here, then." Mrs. Murphy patted her lap and he jumped up. He purred, kneading her thighs gently, turning once before he settled down.

"There's a good boy." She scratched him between the ears and his purring increased in volume.

In the morning she'd give these papers to Estelle, Mrs. Murphy decided. Perhaps she'd even help her to fill them out and set everything up just in case—if something regrettable happened to the poor woman, it wouldn't do to let all that money go to waste. True, there was no reason to think that something would go wrong, but if there was anything that Alice Murphy had learnt during her long career, it was that you always needed to be prepared for the unexpected.

"Just in case,Alice," she murmured to herself softly. "Just in case."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Andrews AFB**

**12:00 PM **

"I'm glad you came to see me," General Morrison rose from his desk as Lee and Amanda entered. "Colonel Clayton told me that he'd contacted the Agency—I'll be glad to offer any help that I can. Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"No thank you, general—we're fine." Lee said. "Mainly we're trying to see if this fits into an old case of ours involving Karbala."

"Where soldiers were being drugged and questioned by charity workers—I remember hearing about that," the general replied. "You never caught the perpetrators?"

"We shut the organization down," Amanda explained. "But Charles Rendell was murdered and Alice Murphy, one of their main operatives, went underground. It's possible she may have started her own network using the Soldier's Relief Fund as a front."

The general nodded. "It does sound possible. Actually I'm hoping that's the case—I still can't quite believe that Major Sterns would willingly turn traitor."

"How long have you known him?" Lee asked.

"About five years now," the general said. "He transferred here so his wife Donna could get cancer treatment in Alexandria—he went through some rough times after she passed a couple of years back, but he seemed to be improving."

That was what Mrs. Murphy and Karbala had done before, Amanda thought to herself. Taken advantage of soldiers who were lonely or injured in some way—people who would be more isolated and vulnerable to their manipulations. This wasn't a coincidence—she was more sure of that than ever. "You told Colonel Clayton that certain information was leaked that only the major could've known," she said aloud. "How exactly did you discover that?"

"The Department of Homeland Security—their National Cyber Division turned up an Islamic site that was posting security information about certain bases—Andrews was one of those bases. The site is down now—we tried to do as much damage control as we could but we have no way of knowing who saw it or what might still happen because of it." The general let out a sigh. "That's the problem with this war—about half the time we seem to be fighting an enemy we can't even see."

"And you're certain that no one else was privy to that information?" Lee asked.

"Absolutely certain." The general replied. "Only myself and Major Sterns—and as I said, I'm pretty damn sure that I'm not the leak. What do you think your next move might be?"

"We'll try to find out as much as we can about the Soldier's Relief Fund," Amanda said. "Find out who's behind it—and if they are engaging in espionage we'll shut them down." Hopefully for good this time, she added silently. Lee took her hand—she knew that he was thinking the same thing.

The general gave another nod. "Do what you can—and quickly. I may not be able to hold off formal charges too much longer."

"We'll do our best, sir," Amanda told him.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**The Agency **

**1:30 PM **

"The Soldier's Relief Fund." Francine pulled the thick file folder from out of the cabinet. "Actually one of our older charities—it was started by heiress Althea Foster in 1983 after her son was wounded during the invasion of Granada—and up until her death a year ago the organization was managed solely by her. The main office is just over on Wisconsin."

"Any idea who manages it now?" Lee wanted to know.

"The last time it was vetted, which was late last April, the organization was being managed by her daughter, Blair Foster," Francine replied. "According to their website she's still the head. There is another interesting tidbit, however. Their previous mission was to assist wounded veterans, but they've since expanded that to include all veterans and enlisted soldiers, regardless of status. Of course, that may have something to do with the large grant they received from the government."

"Faith Based Initiative," Amanda said.

The section chief nodded. "Exactly. They've tightened up their procedures since the debacle with Veteran's Aid, but apparently a grant is still fairly easy to get. "

"Worth checking out, anyway," Lee said. Taking over a previously established charity would be a good move on Karbala's part—and much less likely to attract suspicion. Expanding their mission would make sense as well—reach as many soldiers as possible. "Any background on Blair Foster?"

"Not much so far," Francine told him. "She seems to be clean—prep school, Vassar, Smith—got an MBA and then came straight home to manage her mother's organization. Everything looks good so far, but we'll keep looking."

"Of course if Mrs. Murphy's running the show, she may just be the name on the letterhead," Amanda remembered her mother reading about Althea Foster in the society pages of the newspaper. The lady had been quite a pistol, even in her old age. If the daughter was anything like the mother Amanda couldn't picture her giving up leadership that easily.

"We also ran a background on Major Mark Sterns," Francine said. "Not much there either but there was something that we didn't know before—he had a bit of a breakdown after his wife's death."

"Understandable." Lee couldn't even imagine what he'd do if something like that ever happened to Amanda—he didn't even want to think about the possibility. "How bad a breakdown are we talking about here?"

"A couple of days hospitalization, nothing more," Francine replied. "Apparently it wasn't bad enough to affect his security clearance. So probably not relevant, but it might be worth checking into."

"Might be," Amanda agreed. They were still stumbling around at this point—they really didn't have any way of telling what was and wasn't relevant. "We'll go over to Soldier's relief and check them out."

"Let us know what you find," Francine said. "If Karbala is back in business, we want to take them out as quickly as possible."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**Soldier's Relief Fund Headquarters**

**3:00 PM**

"Please, take a seat," Blair Foster indicated the two chairs in front of her desk. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No thank you, Ms. Foster." Amanda replied as they took a seat. "We just had a few questions to ask you, if you don't mind."

"I'm always willing to help when I can," Ms. Foster said. "What kind of questions?"

"Just a few things," Amanda said. They didn't want to overplay their hand yet—at this point they didn't know whether Ms. Foster was involved—the last thing they wanted to do was tip anyone off. "The Soldier's Relief Fund was originally founded as an organization to help wounded vets, is that right?"

The young woman nodded. "That's correct. After Kevin—that's my older brother—after he lost his legs my mother realized how little there was to help people like him. There was the VA, of course, but he needed someone to help him with the day to day living—so many of them do. And that's where we come in."

"What exactly do you provide?" Lee asked her.

"Basically whatever's needed," Ms. Foster told them. "It's different for each case, really. Some people require things like meals and help around the house, while others just enjoy having the company."

All very similar to Veteran's Aid, Amanda thought—almost eerily so. Though at this point that didn't mean much—they still didn't have enough evidence to go on. "Do you provide any sort of medical care?"

"Well we don't provide day nurses as such, but we do have state licensed caregivers on staff and all of our volunteers are certified in CPR and basic first aid." Ms. Foster said. "Most of this information is on our website. May I ask what all this is about, exactly? We went through this process this last spring."

"Just clarifying a few things, that's all," Lee explained. "We understand that you've recently changed your organizational mission?"

"Oh is that all?" Ms. Foster sounded relieved. "The truth is we didn't actually change our mission at all—we simply expanded it."

"Was that due to the money that you got as part of the Faith Based Initiative?" Amanda wanted to know.

Another nod. "That was part of it—I can't deny that the money helped us tremendously. And when one of our district managers suggested that we grow our organization to care for more soldiers, it seemed like an idea whose time had come." As she spoke Ms. Foster looked at the portrait of the elderly woman on the wall behind her—hair pulled back—aristocratic features—Amanda recognized it immediately as Althea Foster. "I know my mother would've approved."

"Yes, I'm sure she would have." A suggestion from a district manager—an idea began to form in Amanda's head. "Do you remember exactly whose suggestion it was?"

"Not exactly," Ms. Foster replied. "It was way back in June, but I can find out for you in just a moment—the minutes from our meetings are electronically stored—ahh, here we are. The suggestion was made by Angela Maxwell—she runs our branch near Centreville."

Angela Maxwell? It could just be coincidence, of course, but still—Lee and Amanda exchanged glances—they knew they were they thinking the same thing. "So she suggested that you might expand your mission?" Lee asked.

"It was she," Ms. Foster said. "And actually I'm not surprised. She's one of our best. Started out as a volunteer and rose quickly—she's a real credit to this organization."

That did sound very much like Mrs. Murphy—if Amanda had learned anything about that woman it was that she was a survivor. They definitely had to look into this as soon as possible.

Ms. Foster looked down at her watch. "I do have another engagement, so I do need to wrap this up." she said. "Are there any more questions?"

"Just one," Amanda said. "What kind of background checks do you do on your volunteers?"

"A basic criminal background check and drug screening—we do want to be careful about who we have on our team." Another glance at her watch. "I really do have to go now—let me know if you need any other information."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

***for disclaimers, see Part One ***

**Treason and Old Lace-Part Three**

**Q-Bureau**

**Thursday, January 20, 2005**

**9:00 AM **

"Ms. Foster seemed like she was in a hurry yesterday, didn't she?" Amanda asked Lee. She sat at her desk, her fingers tapping the computer keys, her attention focused on the screen in front of her."I mean, maybe she really did have an appointment, but she seemed a little anxious."

"I don't know," Lee replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "She seemed pretty genuine— answered everything we asked her—personally I'd be surprised if she had any role in this."

"Yeah," Amanda let out her breath in a sigh, shaking her head. "You're probably right—I guess I'm just hoping that this doesn't turn out to be another dead end. This hasn't exactly been our most successful case, you know."

"Hey." Putting down his cup of coffee Lee walked over to his wife, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Don't think like that—we're going to get to the bottom of this, I promise."

"And shut Karbala down for good." Amanda agreed. She reached up to give Lee's hand a brief squeeze before turning back to the computer. "Speaking of other subjects, your daughter was interrogating me about birthday presents last night."

"She's your daughter too, you know," Lee said.

Amanda smiled. "Not when she interrogates me like that. Anyway, even if I'd wanted to tell her I couldn't—we still don't know."

"A-man-da—"

"We do need to make up our minds."

"Well I'll tell you one thing—we're not getting her a car, at least not yet." Lee ran one hand back through his hair. "I swear, she's got this idea that as soon as she gets her license, she's going off for a night on to the town or something—and that is not going to happen."

"Lee, relax," Amanda told him. "She knows about the restrictions on teen drivers—we went over that last month. She can't even have more than one teen passenger in the car until she's held a license for a year. And I agree—Jenna's not ready for her own car just yet—not at sixteen."

Sixteen, Lee thought—a high school junior. And next year she'd be a senior, graduating high school—and then college— and after that—

'She's growing up—growing into a beautiful young woman.' The thought caused a lump to rise in his throat. Amanda was looking at him, waiting for him to speak.

"There's still a question of what we do get her." He said aloud.

"I was thinking about that." Amanda's voice brought him back to the present. "Maybe we could all chip in and get her a nice laptop. It would certainly help with her schoolwork—we could even get her a carrying case."

"Sounds good, yeah." Lee agreed. "We'll go to Best Buy this weekend and look at what they have. Any progress with Mrs. Murphy yet?"

"I think so," Amanda said. "The social she gave Soldier's Relief checked out as genuine. Angela Maxwell, born August 19, 1934 in Portsmouth, Virginia. No criminal history—nothing that would show up as suspicious on a preliminary check."

"So there really is an Angela Maxwell?" Lee asked.

"Well there was—I checked out the Social Security Death Index." Amanda's finger pointed at the screen. "Angela Maxwell—born the same date—except that the real Angela Maxwell died at Dixie Hospital in Hampton, Virginia on April 12, 1936. No one checked."

"That old trick," Lee said. "So we can safely establish that Alice Murphy and Angela Maxwell are probably the same person."

Amanda nodded. "That would be my guess." Even the similarities in the names fit—one of the first rules Amanda had learned about aliases was to pick something close to your real name—it was easier to remember and you were less likely to blow your cover. "Now all we have to do is prove it."

Prove it and stop it, she thought to herself. Even with all this they still had so far to go.

At that moment the phone rang—Lee pressed the button for the speaker phone. "Scarecrow here," he said.

"There's been a security breach at Andrews." Billy's voice crackled slightly as it came over the speaker. "General Morrison contacted us—he thinks that it might be connected to the information being leaked."

Connected—Lee and Amanda exchanged glances. "What kind of breach?" Lee asked.

"A man posing as a janitor was caught trying to lift a hard drive and several sensitive documents," Billy replied. "I'd like for you and Amanda to go over there and check it out, Scarecrow—question him if you can."

"We're on our way, sir." Amanda said.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**Andrews AFB **

**10:00 AM**

"Thank you for coming so promptly," General Morrison said. "Luckily we managed to apprehend him before he did any damage."

"What kind of stuff was he trying to steal?" Lee asked.

"A hard drive and a few documents that he'd found in a wastepaper basket," the general replied. "From the looks of things he was just basically grabbing anything he could get his hands on."

Anything he could get his hands on, Amanda thought—it didn't sound like it was something organized—a random fishing expedition, maybe? "You said that he came onto the base by pretending to be one of the cleaning staff," she said. "Did he have any kind of ID with him?"

The general shook his head. "No—and actually that's not how he got on base. That's just what he told the MP who apprehended him."

This was becoming more puzzling by the second. Lee and Amanda exchanged a glance. "How exactly did he get on the base, General?" Lee asked.

General Morrison hesitated, not meeting their gaze directly. "I hate to say it, but it appears that he just walked right in."

"Walked in?" Amanda repeated. "Is that possible?"

"There's a small security break at the front gate," the general said. "Between the graveyard and the morning shift. Usually it's just a question of a minute or so but occasionally it's been as long as five minutes. We've been trying to fix that."

"A minute or two would be all anyone would need." Lee said. This wasn't the first time this kind of thing had happened either—that someone unauthorized had gotten on a military base—he remembered reading about a case where a man had actually managed to pass himself off as base personnel for at least a month or more—even going so far as to secure on-base housing. "What about the documents and the hard drive?" He asked the general. "Aren't there measures in place to make sure those things are protected?"

The general gave a nod. "Documents are supposed to be shredded and computers are to be shut down and secured at all times. Unfortunately we've had civilian temp workers and they don't always follow the rules. We're not proud of this, believe me, but we are trying to crack down on it." His fist clenched. "When this gets leaked out to the press—and it will—we'll look like a bunch of goddamned idiots. And who knows, maybe we deserve it."

"Have you tried to question the suspect?" Amanda asked.

"Of course we have," the general replied. "We got as far as his name and social security number—when we tried to ask him what he was doing on base he clammed up—said that he wouldn't say another word and that he wanted his parents."

Lee raised his eyebrows. "His parents?"

"I guess I didn't explain," the general said. "The suspect is an eighteen-year-old kid. His name is Bernard Clancy."

Eighteen. Amanda remembered when her own sons were that age. Had this been some kind of a prank or dare that had simply gone wrong? "Why do you think this is connected to Major Sterns and our case?" She asked.

"Because the major is the one who brought these security concerns to our attention a month or so back," the general told them. "The breaks at the front gate, unshredded documents and unsecured computers—it's practically word for word. And maybe it is just a coincidence, but with everything else that's going on, I just want to be sure."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

"Do you really think there's anything to this?" Amanda asked Lee as they walked across base towards the guard station where Clancy was being held. "It doesn't sound like much to me."

"Frankly, not to me either," Lee admitted. "But we still have to follow it up—see what we can get out of him."

"Find out where he got his information from," Amanda replied. "Who knows—maybe we'll get lucky."

Lee smiled, his hand reaching out to grasp hers. "That's the spirit, Mrs. Stetson. Shall we?"

Amanda smiled back. "Lead the way, Mr. Stetson."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"Who are you?" Bernard Clancy squeaked as they entered the guard station. He was a tall, thin kid—eyes staring out at them from behind a pair of thick spectacles. "I said that I don't want to talk to you people."

The general hadn't been exaggerating, Lee thought—this guy didn't look much older than Jenna. How the hell had a kid this age gotten mixed up in something like this? He couldn't think about now, though—right now he had to focus on getting the information he needed.

"Oh, I think you do want to talk to us." Slowly Lee walked towards Bernard Clancy. "If you want to get out of here, I think you'll tell us exactly what you need to know." He leaned over him and boy drew back slightly, his eyes wide with fright. "Won't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bernard said. "And I'm not going to tell you anything—I have my rights!"

"Don't tell me about your rights." Lee's voice rose slightly. "You've broken onto an air force base and tried to steal classified information. Do you realize what a serious offense that is? Under the Patriot Act—"

"Wait a minute—the Patriot Act?" Bernard's voice quavered. "I'm not a terrorist or something—you can't get me under that—you can't."

"Oh, you think we can't, kid?" Lee watched as the boy's face turned pale. "You really want to bet on that?"

"Lee, please." Amanda's voice broke in. Lee stepped back and she took a seat next to Bernard. "Listen, we're not trying to frighten you."

"Yeah, well you could've fooled me," Bernard replied.

"All we'd like to know is what you were doing here and how you learned to get onto the base," Amanda told him. "That's all we need to know." Bernard fell silent, staring down at the table. "Bernard," Amanda continued. "We really would like to help you, but first we need you to help us. Can you do that?"

More silence. Finally the boy looked up at Amanda.

"I'll tell you what you want to know," he said.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

"A fraternity prank?" the general repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. "That's what this was?"

"That's what he said," Lee replied. "He told us he's rushing Theta Pi at Georgetown and they dared him to break onto a military base and steal anything he could find."

"Well I'll be damned." The general shook his head. "What happened to things like panty raids? It does explain why it was so random, though. Did he say anything about how he figured out how to break in? Where he got the information from?"

Amanda hesitated. "Actually, sir, he told us that he just hid and waited until the coast was clear—he didn't have any information about base security."

"Then how did he know where to find the documents and the hard drive?" the general asked.

"Actually he didn't know," Lee said. "From the looks of things he simply went to the nearest unsecured building and took what he could find."

The general let out a sigh as he lowered himself onto his chair. "Somehow I guess we should have seen this coming. We've known about these security breaches for a while now—guess this is our wake-up call."

"You do have some security issues to deal with," Amanda told him. "This could've been something much worse."

"Believe me, we're going to," the general replied. "I'll make sure every building is secured and the gate is guarded at all times—hell, I'll do it myself if I have to." He paused briefly. "There still is the question of the leak, however—that is very real."

"We're still looking into that, sir," Amanda said.

"Very good." The general gave a nod. "Hopefully we'll find something quickly—like I said before, I don't think we're going to be able to hold off formal proceedings for too much longer."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

"I hope they don't come down too hard on him," Amanda said.

Lee glanced over at his wife in surprise. "Huh? Come down too hard on who?"

"Bernard Clancy. I just hope that they aren't too hard on him, that's all. He really didn't mean to do any harm."

"Amanda, whether he meant to do any harm or not is irrelevant." Lee said as he pulled up to a stoplight. It had started to rain now, fat droplets hitting the windshield. He turned the wipers on. "What he did was a federal offense—the law's not going to look at what he meant to do."

"Yeah, but you saw him," Amanda replied. "He wasn't some criminal—he was just a kid who did this because he wanted to be accepted. Lee, that could've been Phillip or Jamie—even Jenna."

The light changed to green and Lee made a left onto Dower House Road. "Personally I would hope that they would have a little more sense than to pull a stunt like that." At least he hoped that they would have—though he remembered the stuff he'd had been up to at that age—most of the stuff that he'd like to forget.

"I would hope they would too, but you know what I mean." Amanda looked at him as she spoke. "Because of this one little mistake that kid could end up with a permanent criminal record that will follow him around for the rest of his life."

"Yeah, I know what you're saying." Lee's hand reached over, giving her hand a brief squeeze. "Listen—he has no priors and there was no malicious intent—chances are he'll just get probation or something. Like you said, he's basically a good kid."

"I hope so," Amanda said quietly. "The question is, where do we go from here?"

"It might be worthwhile to pay Major Sterns a little visit," Lee told her. "See what we can find out about him—and Estelle as well."

"And if he doesn't talk to us willingly?"

"Well, then a little surveillance might be in order. One way or another, Amanda—we're going to get to the bottom of this."

"We will—one way or another." Amanda spoke the words, hoping she sounded a lot more confident than she felt.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**6211 Hidden Canyon Rd, Centreville, VA **

**2:00 PM**

"_Tell me—tell me what I need to know." _

_The woman's voice penetrated Mark's consciousness, piercing eyes looking deep into his own. He wanted to look away but the hand that cupped his chin didn't allow for any movement. _

"_Tell me," she repeated. _

'_I can't do it.' He thought the words to himself. 'Can't tell her—I won't tell her.' But even as these thoughts raced through his brain he could hear his own voice speaking the words—telling her everything—everything that she wanted to know—the words poured forth and he couldn't seem to stop them. _

"_Tell me more." Her face drew closer to his and at the same time it seemed to grow larger—blocking out everything else until it was only her._

_A face he recognized…._

"No!"

Mark Sterns shouted the word aloud as he sat up on the sofa, his heart thudding against his chest. His breathing slowed as he looked around the room, taking in the familiar objects. Sunlight spilled in through the lace curtains, creating patterns on the opposite wall.

Donna would've loved this room—she always loved the natural sunlight. The large front windows were one of the reasons that he'd bought this place to begin with.

'Just a dream,' he told himself firmly, trying to shake the images from his mind. 'Nothing else.' His eyes fell on the clock. Two in the afternoon. Strange—he didn't usually nap during the day. Two teacups lay in front of him on the table, one turned on its side, brown liquid seeping out.

Had company been here? Try as he might, Mark couldn't quite remember.

The clang of the doorbell jolted him out of his thoughts. "Just a minute," he called out. "I'm coming." Hastily he righted the spilled cup. Grabbing both, he took them into the kitchen and deposited them into the sink. The doorbell rang again.

"This had better be important," he muttered under his breath. He walked to the front door and unlocked it, pulling it open. A couple stood on his doorstep—a slender woman with dark hair and a taller man with graying hair.

"Major Sterns?" The man said.

"Yes, that's who I am," Mark replied. "What's all this about?"

"Lee and Amanda Stetson," The woman said, pulling her ID out of her pocket—the man did the same. "We'd like to have a word with you."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"I know what you're saying." Mark told them as he came into the front room with coffee on a tray, handing a cup to both Lee and Amanda before placing the tray on the coffee table. "I've spoken to the colonel and I've heard it from the general himself, and I'm gonna tell you the same thing that I told them—this is bull."

"Secrets have been getting out though," Lee said. "You can't deny that."

"No, I can't deny it." The major took a seat in the armchair facing them. "I've seen the evidence with my own eyes. But I'm telling you right now that I am not the leak."

"How do you explain the money that's been placed in your account?" Amanda asked him.

"I don't." He snapped out the words. "I was always bad with money—my wife Donna—she handled all that for me—I don't know. Maybe I forgot how much I had in there. That's possible, isn't it?"

"Major—" Lee began, but Mark held up his hand.

"No," he said. "I don't want to hear anymore. I'm not a traitor and that's all I'm going to say."

Denial, Amanda thought. She recalled how the colonel had been—defensive and on edge—she was seeing all the same signs in the Major. This had to be Mrs. Murphy's work—the signs were unmistakable.

"Major, it's very possible that you're not doing this willingly," she said. "You might be giving secrets without being aware of it."

"Just what are you saying?" the major asked her.

Amanda drew in a deep breath. "It's possible that you're being drugged."

The major laughed disbelievingly. "By who?" He asked. "Estelle, perhaps? The colonel implied the same thing."

"That is a possibility," Lee replied. "If you'd just listen—"

"No," the major said. "You listen. Estelle is trustworthy. She belongs to a reputable organization and she helps me out. I don't believe that she would ever betray me. And I'd know if I was being drugged."

"Are you sure?" Amanda leaned forward as she spoke. "Think back. Have there been times recently when you've had memory blackouts or strange dreams? Falling asleep at strange times and not remembering what happened before?"

Mark just stared at her, his eyes wide. For one moment Amanda thought he might say something, but then he shook his head.

"No," he said. "Nothing like that—I'd know."

This wasn't going anywhere—Lee and Amanda exchanged glances and Amanda rose to her feet.

"If you'll excuse me," she said. "I'll just get a spoon to stir my coffee. Be right back."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

She still hated this part of the job sometimes, Amanda thought as she placed the small flat disc underneath the table, making sure that it was firmly stuck to the underside before removing her hand. Lying and sneaking around—unfortunately it was sometimes necessary. The bug should pick up anything said in the den, kitchen or front room—that's what Leatherneck had told her. It was the most powerful bug the Agency had. For good measure she placed a second bug underneath the cabinet, right near the den.

It wasn't like she had a choice, she reasoned. At this point it was obvious that the major wouldn't help them voluntarily.

Now what had she come in here for? A spoon, that was it. Amanda grabbed one from the drainer and that's when she saw them. The teacups in the sink.

That tea—on impulse she picked one of the cups up and brought it to her nose. The pungent odor assaulted her nose, causing her eyes to water—the same smell that had been in one of the colonel's teacups. Grabbing a Ziploc bag from a box on the counter she dropped the cup inside and sealed the bag, placing it in her purse. She'd drop it off at the lab for testing later on.

"Find what you need?"

Amanda turned around to see the Major standing in the doorway, staring at her.

"Yes, I did," she held up the spoon. "I'm sorry it took me so long to find it."

"No problem." He smiled faintly. "I'm still getting organized myself, I'm afraid. Donna used to take care of a lot of this stuff for me."

"Was she your wife?" Amanda asked.

The major nodded. "Passed away three years ago." He ran a hand back through his hair. "It seems silly, I know—after all this time you think I'd have gotten used to living without her, but—" his voice trailed off. "But I'm afraid that I haven't."

"It can be hard," Amanda replied. "You loved her very much."

"I did, yeah," he said. "That's why I really appreciate what Estelle's been doing for me lately—it's helped me a lot—you don't know how much." A pause. "I'm sorry if I seemed defensive out there—you're just doing your job, after all."

"Believe me, I understand," Amanda said. "And if there's anything at all you can tell us, it would help a great deal."

For a few moments the major stared at her—Amanda had the same feeling that she'd had back in the living room—that there was something he wanted to tell her. Finally he spoke.

"We should get back in the living room—your husband might start to wonder where we are."

Without another word he turned and strode out of the kitchen.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

"Did you plant the bugs?" Lee asked as he slowly pulled out of the major's driveway.

Amanda nodded. "One under the table and one underneath the countertop—hopefully those will be able to tell us something. And look at this." Unzipping her purse she pulled out the Ziploc bag with the teacup inside. "It smelled the same as the colonel's—I'm going to have the lab analyze it."

"Good idea," Lee replied. "Chances are that it's the same substance."

"Or something similar," Amanda said. "It was funny—I get the feeling that he wanted to tell me something but he was holding back."

"Chances are he's been having the same issues that the colonel was. Memory blackouts, falling asleep—all the things you were talking about." Lee made a left onto Blueridge View Drive. "He's probably even suspicious about the money in his account. It's just hard for him to admit it, that's all." He remembered his uncle—the pain and betrayal he'd seen his eyes when he discovered that he'd been duped—that would be a hard thing for anyone to acknowledge.

"Hopefully we'll be able to put a stop to this before it goes any further—before anyone else gets hurt," Amanda spoke quietly. "What's our next step?"

"Get this to the lab," Lee said. "With that and what the bug tells us, hopefully we'll be able to crack this wide open."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

***for disclaimers, see prologue***

**Treason and Old Lace-Part Four**

**5751 Wood Meadow Way, Apartment 2D, Centreville, VA**

**Friday, January 21, 2005**

**8:30 AM**

The ringing of the phone jerked Estelle out of a sound sleep. She sat up in bed, brushing the hair out of her eyes as her hand grabbed for the cordless handset on the nightstand. "Hello?"

"Hello, my dear." Angela Maxwell's voice. "I do hope I haven't woken you."

"No—no, I'm fine," Estelle said quickly. Her eyes fell on the bedside clock—half past eight. Why was she being called at this hour? "What did you need? I hope there's not a problem with my work."

"None at all—you know that you're one of my finest operatives," Mrs. Maxwell replied. "The information you've given me has been very valuable. I just have a few questions to ask you."

This was all beginning to sound very strange. "Sure— ask away."

"Very well. When you've visited the major's home, have you noticed any recent visitors?"

"Visitors?" Estelle repeated. "What sort of visitors?"

"Anyone you haven't seen before—somebody who claims to be a friend or even perhaps a family member? Think back."

"The major has no living family—we've discussed this before," Estelle said. "And the only person who's visited him has been General Morrison and I told you about him."

"And you're certain he's been the only one?"

"Well I'm not around him twenty-four hours a day, but that's it as far as I know." She could hear the defensiveness in her own tone. "Just what is this about?"

A pause. "It's nothing for you to worry about, my dear," Mrs. Maxwell told her. "You will let me know if you do encounter anyone, won't you?"

"Yes—yes of course I will."

"And you're meeting the major today, is that correct?"

This was starting to feel like an interrogation. "That is correct," she replied.

"And you will check for any listening devices or cameras?"

"I always do."

"Very good," Mrs. Maxwell said. "Have a marvelous day, my dear—I look forward to hearing from you very soon. Goodbye."

"Good—" Estelle didn't even manage to get the word out before there was a click, followed by a dial tone. For one moment she entertained the idea of calling back and demanding to know what was going on but decided against it—if there was one thing she'd learned about Angela Maxwell, it was that she disliked being questioned or challenged in any way.

But if this might affect her future—get her in trouble with the authorities—she did not get into this business only to be caught and jailed. At the end of the day she had to look out for herself.

'No point in worrying about it yet,' Estelle told herself firmly, placing the handset back in the charger. 'Not until you know that there's something to be worried about."

Another glance at the clock told her that it was now forty minutes after eight. No point in going back to bed now—time to get up and start her day. She rose from the bed, put on her robe and slippers and padded down the hallway towards the kitchen.

A pit was the kindest way to describe this apartment, she thought, as she put a fresh filter into the coffeemaker, spooned in several spoonfuls of coffee and poured fresh water into the top of the machine. The walls were paper thin and the windows did nothing to keep out the draft—moisture tended to collect in the corners of the window and form spots of mildew—at least she hoped it was only mildew—she cleaned it with bleach regularly. The rhythmic thump of the bass from someone's car speakers caused her windows to rattle—Estelle let out her breath in an exasperated sigh.

'I should move out of this dump—get a nicer place.' She'd been wanting to do that for months, actually, but Mrs. Maxwell had nixed the idea, saying that it might draw unwanted attention.

"_Perhaps later," she'd told her. "Once the heat has cooled down somewhat." _ In Estelle's opinion that day couldn't come soon enough. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a shiny metal pan—the lines and wrinkles around her eyes—her mouth. It wasn't as if she were getting any younger.

The ringing of the phone brought her back to the present. Not another call-what could she want this time? Estelle picked up the extension in the kitchen.

"Hello?"

"Hey there." The major's voice. "Just thought I'd call—see how everything is going."

"Fine—everything's just fine." The coffeemaker beeped, letting her know it was done. Opening the cupboard she pulled out a mug and two packets of Splenda. "Actually I was just getting ready to call you—to ask if you wanted to get together this afternoon. I know it's not my regular day, but I'd like to spend some time with you."

"Great minds think alike," the major replied. "I'll even make us a special lunch. What do you say—around noon today?"

"Sounds good." Estelle took a sip of her coffee, feeling the warm liquid trickle down her throat. "I'll be there."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**6211 Hidden Canyon Rd, Centreville, VA **

**1:30 PM **

"Here, let me help you with that," Mark said, watching as Estelle placed a stack of dishes in the sink. "You shouldn't have to do that all by yourself."

"Nonsense," Estelle told him. "It's my job, remember? Now you just sit there and I'll rinse these things and make us a nice pot of tea."

"Hey—you're the boss." The major grinned.

"Well it's the least I can do after you made us that lovely lunch." Carefully she rinsed and scrubbed each dish, placing them in the drainer. In a little while she'd put them in the dishwasher. Opening the cabinet she took the teakettle and filled it with cold water, placing it on the stove.

Almost time, she thought. Reaching up, she pulled open the cabinet door to the left of the sink where the cups always were—

"That's funny," she said out loud. "There's only one cup here."

"Really?" Mark frowned. "I could've sworn there were two. Maybe it's behind another cup."

"It's not behind another cup," Estelle replied, surprised at the sharpness she heard in her own voice "It's just not here."

"Maybe I should go look for it—I'm sure it's lying around somewhere—"

"It's okay," Estelle said. "Really—I'll just use another cup. It's no problem." Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her purse on the counter, unzipping it and retrieving two teabags—one specially marked. She placed one teabag in a cup and one in a small mug. The mug was what she would use.

Nerves—that's what it had to be. That phone call from Mrs. Maxwell had really put her on edge. She concentrated on controlling her breathing—in and out—

"I really have to thank you, you know."

The major's voice startled her. Estelle turned to face him.

"Thank me for what?" she asked.

"For just being here—for everything you do," the major said. "Maybe it sounds silly, but before you came, I was just kind of existing—going through the motions. Now I have a reason to get up in the morning, if you know what I mean."

'Please don't do this—don't say this now,' Estelle could feel a knot beginning to form in her stomach. But despite everything he continued to speak.

"I guess what I want to say, Estelle, is that I'm so glad I found you." Another smile. "And I'm so glad we're friends."

He stared at her, obviously expecting her to say something back. Estelle opened her mouth—

At that moment the teakettle whistled. Saved by the bell—she let out her breath in a quiet sigh of relief.

"I'll just get your tea, shall I?" she said, turning away. "We can discuss this over a nice cup." Estelle could see the confusion in his eyes. "Yes, everything will look better over a nice hot cup of tea."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

A bug.

Estelle crouched on the floor, looking up at the small flat disc that was stuck to the bottom of the table. She'd never actually seen one before, except in pictures, and despite everything Mrs. Maxwell had drilled into her, part of her had never actually expected to find one.

Who could've planted it? General Morrison, perhaps? Or had there been another visitor? That was what she'd been told to look out for, after all. Almost like she'd known that something like this might happen.

Maybe the major himself had planted it. Somehow Estelle didn't find that very likely. After all, he would never have told her how he felt if he'd suspected her of using him.

So who had done this?

'You can't worry about that now," she told herself sternly. "You know what to do next.' Grabbing the bug she walked over to the sink where her now-empty cup sat. She turned on the faucet, filling the cup with water, and dropped the bug into the water. She cast another glance around the kitchen but didn't see anything else. Seated at the kitchen table Mark Sterns groaned softly, reminding her of what she needed to do. Estelle grabbed her pad and pen from her purse and took a seat in the chair next to him.

"Let's begin," she told him. He nodded faintly, drugged eyes looking into her own. "Last time you were telling me about the security arrangements at the place where you were stationed before—Langley, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, that was it—Langley in Newport News."

"Very good, major," Estelle replied. "Can you give me some of those details? I need to know everything possible."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

"Planting the second bug was a good idea," Lee told Amanda. They sat in the surveillance van parked about a block away from the house, earphones on. "She looked for the first one and didn't look too closely for the second."

"Yeah, well don't forget—she's also pressed for time," Amanda said. "The drug only lasts for so long. She could hear the interrogation that was going on—the major's voice, slightly slurred, telling Estelle everything she wanted to know about the security arrangements at Langley. The conversation was being taped—it would be transcribed back at the Agency later on. This was definitely the work of Mrs. Murphy and Karbala—if she hadn't been sure of that before she was absolutely certain now. "By the way, did Jenna seem moody to you last night?"

"Actually yeah, she did seem kind of quiet last night." Quiet was an understatement, Lee thought—Jenna had hardly said a word during dinner, pushing her food around on her plate before announcing she had homework to do and disappearing upstairs. Under normal circumstances he would've confronted her about it, but he'd been so preoccupied with this case that he'd written it off as a teenage mood swing. "You don't think anything's seriously wrong, do you?"

Amanda shook her head. "No, nothing like that—at least I don't think so—but if it keeps up we should have a talk with her. Any word on the lab report yet?"

"They said it's a similar substance to the one used on the colonel," Lee replied. "Mixed with real tea like the last time. Some of the ingredients were a little different, but McJohn said that the effect would be about the same."

"Makes sense—Mrs. Murphy's an independent agent this time—she'd have to come up with her own supplier."

"Local drug dealer, most likely," Lee said. "And this is a pretty specialized drug—not your average street stuff—so they'd have to have some sort of lab to be able to analyze and develop it."

"And what about Estelle?"

"As far as we can tell she's one Estelle Coulton—recently widowed—she used to work for the Veteran's Administration—we got her address from Social Security." Lee opened a folder as he spoke. "From the looks of things there are about a dozen volunteers at the Centreville branch and Francine said that 'Mrs. Maxwell' appears to have some connection with the Richmond branch as well."

A small network, Amanda thought—that way they'd be less likely to attract attention. If Mark Sterns hadn't been connected to the colonel it could've been months before they'd uncovered it—and by then the damage would've been much worse. "Estelle's not the one we want, though."

Lee shook his head. "No, but with any luck she might be able to lead us to Mrs. Murphy and to Faisal—they're the ones we really want."

"With any luck," Amanda echoed. She had a feeling that it might not be quite as simple as that.

"Amanda, believe me." Lee took one of her hands in his. "We'll get them this time—I promise you that."

Amanda squeezed his hand. "I believe you."

Silence on the headset—the conversation had come to a halt. Amanda waited a few more moments before switching off the recorder.

Once Estelle left, they would make their next move.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

She hadn't caught it.

Estelle could barely breathe as she stared down at the disc in her hand—the second disc. It had been there the whole time and she had missed it.

If she hadn't knocked her purse off the counter and bent to pick it up—she might never have known about it.

'They've got me—they heard every word that I said—' Who the shadowy 'they' were hardly seemed to matter at this point. They had her voice on tape, she would be tried and convicted of espionage—sentenced to prison or worse—

It couldn't end—not like this. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. Estelle drew in deep breaths, fighting to quell the nausea rising in her gut.

Mrs. Maxwell. She'd tell her what happened—explain her mistake. Hopefully she'd be able to help her out of this mess before it was too late.

There had to be some way.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

"Okay, she's leaving," Amanda said. They sat parked across the street from the house now; together they watched as Estelle got into her car and pulled out of the driveway, disappearing down the block. Only then did they leave the van and make their way over to the major's house.

The door was locked—Amanda stood in front of her husband, keeping watch as he picked the lock.

The house was virtually silent—the only noise was the soft sound of the dishwasher in the kitchen. That was where they found the major. He sat in one of the kitchen chairs, his head lolling to one side—clearly unconscious.

"Sir?" Amanda bent over him, patting his face gently. "Major Sterns? You need to wake up—come on." The man groaned softly, his eyes fluttering open.

"Estelle?" His voice sounded thick and slurred—his eyes barely focusing. Lee handed Amanda a glass of water.

"Here you go," Amanda told the major. "Drink just a little—go on." He took a few sips before turning his head away.

"What—" He coughed, noticing Lee and Amanda for the first time. "What's going on here? What're you doing here?"

"You've been drugged," Lee said.

"Drugged?" Amanda could see the confusion on the man's face. "How—how'd it happen?" he shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Can't—can't remember anything. Is Estelle here?"

"No, she's not here," Amanda explained gently. "I can't explain right now, sir—but we need to get to the Agency and have you tested. Now can you walk?"

The major nodded. "I think so, yeah."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**5751 Wood Meadow Way, Apartment 2D, Centreville, VA**

**4:30 PM **

"I came as soon as I could, my dear," Mrs. Maxwell said as she swept into the apartment. "I do hope everything's all right—you sounded a bit upset on the phone."

"Well actually, yes," Estelle told her. "I was very upset—you see, something's happened—I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did and now I just—I don't know what to do about it." She felt tears on her face now—she reached up with a trembling hand to brush them away. "It's all such a mess—"

"Oh, my dear." Mrs. Maxwell crooned. She took a seat on the sofa beside her. "Why don't you just tell me what it is? Get it off your chest—you'll feel ever so better."

This wasn't going to be easy—Estelle drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She could feel the woman's pale eyes looking through her. "The major's house—it was bugged. I did—I searched for bugs the way I always do, of course—though this is the first time I've ever found one."

"Go on," Mrs. Maxwell said. "Did you destroy the bug that you found?"

Estelle nodded. "I destroyed that one, yes."

"That one?" Mrs. Maxwell spoke quietly. "You mean, there was another?"

"Yes—a second one, hidden under the countertop—I swear I didn't know—not until after the interrogation. By then it was too late." The woman wasn't looking at her now—she stared straight ahead, silent—her face expressionless. So cold, she thought to herself. "You have to help me—please."

More silence. Estelle could hear the sound of her own ragged breathing—blood rushing through her ears.

"Help," Mrs. Maxwell replied finally. "Yes, I will help you—and I'll tell you what we need to do, Estelle—you need to get away—far away."

"Away? Where would I go?"

"Anywhere. You'll get yourself a new identity, license—everything you need to start a whole new life. I have some friends that will help you out. Now how does that sound to you?"

"Wonderful." Estelle felt more tears—tears of relief this time. "I really have to thank you for this—you don't know how scared I was."

Mrs. Maxwell patted her hand. "Believe me, it's all right." She rose to her feet. "Why don't you just sit here for a moment and collect yourself. I'll make us a nice pot of tea and then we'll begin."

Estelle smiled. "That sounds wonderful." She leaned back on the couch—her eyes closing—she could hear Mrs. Murphy bustling around the kitchen, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.

A new life—that's just what she needed. Something to get away from it all—to reinvent herself, perhaps. Who was it who had said that a change was as good as a rest? Estelle wasn't sure, but she agreed with the sentiment. This time would be a change for sure—this time she would get a nice place, and damn the expense.

"Here you are."

Estelle opened her eyes to see Mrs. Maxwell with a cup of tea in her hand—she'd been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn't even heard the whistle of the kettle.

"I hope you like Earl Grey," she said. "That's about I have right now."

"I love it." Estelle wrapped her hands around the cup and took a long sip, feeling the warmth seeping into her bones. "Thank you."

"Oh, I really wouldn't thank me—not if I were you."

"If you were—" Estelle stared at her. "What did you do?"

She whispered the last four words—she couldn't speak. It was becoming increasingly harder even to breathe. The woman seemed to tower over her now—Estelle wanted to back away but she didn't have the strength.

"It's a very potent paralytic." Mrs. Maxwell's tone was matter-of-fact. "It paralyzes your limbs and central nervous system within just moments—a humane way to do away with someone who has become a liability. Wouldn't you say that? No." A hand brushed her cheek. "I don't suppose you can, really."

Estelle felt like a beached fish—lying on the sand, gasping for air that wouldn't come—she stared mutely up into those cold eyes—eyes that became red as that color flooded her field of vision. She wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

Merciful blackness rushed in, and Estelle Coulton saw nothing more.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

***for disclaimers, see Prologue* **

**Treason and Old Lace-Part Five**

**The Agency**

****Friday, January 21, 2005****

**7:00 PM**

"This exonerates you completely, Major," General Morrison, looking at the results from the blood tests. "The drug she gave you was extremely potent—you obviously weren't in control of your actions. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"No problem, sir." Major Sterns answered, his voice low. He sat in an armchair in the Q-Bureau, his right sleeve still rolled up. A gauze and tape marked the place at the crook of his elbow where they'd drawn his blood. Absently he scratched around of the edges of the bandage. "I'm just still—I guess I'm still taking it all in."

"Give it time—take some time off if you like—you deserve it." The general patted his shoulder briefly. "Any idea of how many soldiers might have been compromised?" He asked, looking up at Lee and Amanda.

"That's something we're still trying to figure out," Lee replied. "We have a warrant to search both offices—hopefully we'll find a record of volunteers and who they were targeting and put the ringleaders behind bars."

"Excellent." The general nodded. "Wish I could be there when you put these people away. Soldier's Relief is a wonderful organization and I was close to Althea Foster—I'd hate to see her good name soiled by this."

"We plan to do that, sir." Amanda told him. Hopefully they'd be able to capture both Mrs. Murphy and Faisal this time—shut them down once and for all.

"Good, keep me updated," the general said. "Take care, Major."

"Thank you, sir," the major replied. The general left the office and he felt silent again, staring down at his arm.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" Amanda asked him. "Coffee, or maybe even a glass of water?"

"No—I'm okay, really." The major let out a sigh. "All this time and Estelle was just using me—it seems crazy, but I thought we had something special."

Amanda could see the pain in the man's eyes—the same pain she remembered on the Colonel's face when he'd found out about Mrs. Murphy. To make someone trust you like that and then betray them—she could only imagine what the major must be feeling. "You can't blame yourself," she said. "She was very good at what she did."

"Still, if something had happened at a base, because of me—what I told her—" the major shook his head. "I'm not sure I could've lived with myself. What bases did I tell her about?"

"As far as we know you gave security information regarding Andrews and Langley," Lee replied. "If we find more, I'll let you know."

"Sir, you really shouldn't feel bad," Amanda reminded him. "This drug erased your memory—you really had no idea what you were doing."

The major looked up at her. "Guess you're right. Actually I'm glad I found out before we went any further—before I made a damn fool of myself." His fist clenched. "You meant what you said earlier, didn't you? That you'll do everything you can to put these people away?"

Lee nodded. "I promise you—we will."

"Yes, we will." Amanda repeated.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**5751 Wood Meadow Way, Apartment 2D, Centreville, VA**

**8:00 PM **

"Not much of a place," Amanda remarked as they entered building two—the super had informed them that apartment 'D' was upstairs and to the left.

"Makes sense she'd have a place like this though," Lee replied. "She was living on a pension—if she started spending too much money she'd attract unwelcome attention."

"Makes sense," Amanda agreed. The stairs creaked slightly as they went up—the light bulb on the stairwell flickered. Downstairs she could hear a couple shouting at one another, mingled with the thin high-pitched wail of a baby's cry.

'No one would suspect you of being wealthy', she thought to herself. 'Not if you lived like this.' They reached the top of the stairs. To the left they could see a grey door with a black 'D' on the front. It was supposed to be a 'D'—the sticker was cracked and peeling in places.

"No expense spared," Lee muttered. He lifted his hand to knock but before he could the door opened slightly.

Unlocked? But who would leave their door unlocked in a place like this? Amanda wondered. Unless—she swallowed hard.

"Let's see what's going on, shall we?" Lee said. Amanda simply nodded. The door creaked slightly as they pushed it open the rest of the way.

"Oh my gosh," Amanda whispered.

The lamp was on but the shades were drawn. The glow from the lamp illuminated the body of a woman lying face-down on the rug. It was Estelle—it had to be. Lee knelt down beside her, placing two fingers on the side of her neck.

"Is she—" Amanda asked. Lee nodded, pulling a pair of gloves out of his pocket and putting them on. Amanda did likewise and knelt beside Lee.

"No blood," Lee said. "At least not that I can see."

"No bruising or strangulation marks either," Amanda said, pushing Estelle's hair away from her neck to get a better view. No signs of violence anywhere—not that she could see. What could have done this? That's when she spotted it—a single teacup—it had rolled under the sofa. Carefully she retrieved it by the handle and lifted it to her nose.

"Anything?" Lee asked.

"Well, I can't smell anything," she told him. Not that the lack of smell meant much, she knew—many poisons were odorless. They'd take this to the lab for further testing. "It's possible that she died accidentally—maybe a heart attack."

"It would be a hell of a coincidence, though," Lee replied. "Somehow I doubt she'd leave her door unlocked in a neighborhood like this."

"Yeah, you're right," Amanda agreed. She rose to her feet. "I think we need to call the Agency—get a team in here—hey, look at this." A sheet of paper lay on the table beside the sofa—she picked it up. It was a letter, she realized, studying the hastily scrawled writing that took up most of the page:

_To Whom it May Concern, _

_To whoever finds me and reads this letter, I'm so sorry. I know that doesn't make any difference now, but I feel like it needs to be said. Sorry for everything that I've done. I've betrayed my country and our brave men in uniform and all for a few dollars. I could no longer live with myself, knowing all the damage that I may have caused. _

_If you have the teacup tested, you will find that it contains poison—that is what I used to end this. And as a show of good faith, on the back of this paper I have included the name and phone number of Faisal Shahad—he is the leader of Karbala. Also included are the names and contact info of other major Karbala operatives. _

_I realize that this does not exonerate me completely. And I know that in the eyes of many I will be forever viewed as a traitor. Still, this may help to undo the damage that I've done. In the long run that means so much more. Again, I'm sorry. _

_-Estelle Coulton_

"Awfully formal for a sudden suicide note," Lee remarked, looking over her shoulder.

"Awfully unbelievable," Amanda said. This one had Mrs. Murphy written all over it. She turned the paper over and there it was—the names, numbers and even addresses of the main leaders of Karbala. In sharp contrast to the messy handwriting on the front of the paper, each bit of information was carefully and neatly recorded.

'Tying up loose ends and clearing out,' she thought. That's exactly what was happening here. "Let's get the team over here," Amanda told Lee. "I think we need to locate Mrs. Maxwell and pay her a visit as soon as possible."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

Them again—they had found her.

Seated in her car across the street Mrs. Murphy watched as the couple entered the apartment building. Even in the dim glow of the streetlights she could see that they looked just the same; a slim dark-haired woman and a taller man with grey hair—the same people who had raided the Veteran's Aid Offices back in Arlington.

Colonel Clayton's family—the same people who had nearly snagged her before. Alice should've guessed they'd be involved in this somehow. They were probably the ones who planted the bugs in the major's home.

'The best-laid plans of mice and men', she thought to herself. At the moment Mrs. Murphy couldn't recall who'd said that, but it seemed appropriate for her situation.

She had to get out of here—part of her had hoped that arranging Estelle's 'suicide' and selling out Karbala would buy her a little breathing space. Now—looking up she could see lights on in Estelle's apartment, shadows moving around. After they found the body they'd call in federal agents. They'd search the house—the Centreville and Richmond offices—they probably didn't know her address yet, but they would before too long.

What she wouldn't give to find out who these people were, who they worked for and take them down herself…

No—she couldn't think about things like that—at least not yet. Not until she got herself settled and established somewhere else. The only question was where? Another state, perhaps? Or should she leave the country entirely?

Her gaze fell on the papers beside her on the seat—the financial information that she'd taken from Estelle's apartment. The exact location didn't really matter very much, Alice told herself. Once she retrieved her own money and the money from Estelle's accounts, she'd be ready to go just about anywhere. It was regrettable that she had to move so abruptly; her cat would be annoyed—Mr. Whiskers was older now and tended not to travel that well. Still, it couldn't be helped.

'This is not the end,' she thought. 'It's only a beginning.' She started the ignition and took off down the street—there was a lot of work to be done.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**The Agency **

**11:30 PM **

"Coffee," Billy said, as he handed each of them a cup. "After tonight I think we can use it."

"Thanks Billy," Amanda took a sip of the warm liquid. "Any news yet?"

"Some good news and some bad news," Billy replied. "From what we can tell so far, it does look like Estelle Coulton was poisoned. Whether it was by her own hand or not has yet to be determined—we have a handwriting expert in crypto going over the suicide note now."

"I'd be willing to bet that was no suicide," Lee said.

Billy let out a sigh. "Frankly, I'm inclined to agree with you there. It also appears that someone went through Estelle's things and took some papers—we're guessing financial papers—though we're not completely certain about that."

Financial papers, Amanda thought—either Mrs. Murphy had simply been covering her tracks or she was planning to make off with Estelle's money as well. She'd already murdered an associate and sold out her network—Mrs. Murphy was capable of anything at this point. A shiver ran through her and Lee took her hand in his, giving it a brief squeeze. "What about the other volunteers?" she asked Billy

"We're working on it," Billy said. "We have a list from the Centreville office. Hopefully they can tell us something. And we expect to have all of Karbala rounded up by the end of the week—at least something good will come of this."

"And Mrs. Murphy?" Lee wanted to know. "What about her?"

Billy drew in a deep breath. "That's part of the bad news," he began. "We did find a street address for Mrs. Angela Maxwell at the Centreville branch. However, when we went to her house, she'd already cleared out."

"Any clues to where she might be heading?" Amanda asked.

He shook his head. "There were a few items that were left behind, but nothing that would tell us anything. I'm sorry."

"I see." Somehow they should've guessed that would happen, Amanda knew. The woman had probably been watching them as they'd entered Estelle's apartment and decided that it wasn't safe to hang around. If there was one thing they'd learned about Mrs. Murphy in all this time, it was that she was a survivor.

'Maybe she'll decide to go straight after this,' she thought. 'Take her money and leave the business.' No—something inside told Amanda that would never happen. Mrs. Murphy would turn up again—the only question was when—and where.

"Amanda?" Lee stared at her his eyes full of concern.

"We caught Karbala," Amanda told him, struggling to put her thoughts into words. "That's the most important thing. And if—when we find Mrs. Murphy we'll be ready for her. Right, Stetson?"

Lee squeezed her hand. "Right, Mrs. Stetson."

"That's the spirit," Billy replied. "Now both of you get out of here and go home—enjoy your weekend. Believe me, you've earned it."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**Saturday, January 22, 2005**

**12:30 AM**

"Sweetheart?"

Jenna looked up from her book. "Hi, Mom—I hope I didn't wake you or anything."

"No, you didn't wake me—I just got home myself." Amanda walked into Jenna's bedroom and sat down beside her on the bed. "You know that it's about half-past twelve?"

Jenna let out a sigh. "It's not a school night or anything."

"Yeah, I know." Amanda smoothed Jenna's hair. "It's just that you usually don't stay up this late, that's all." Jenna said nothing in reply, staring down at the bedspread. "Something you want to talk about? I know your dad and I have been busy lately, but we're still here for you."

"How did it go, by the way—the stuff at work? I know I can't ask details or anything, but did it go okay?"

Amanda smiled—Jenna's curiosity about the Agency still reminded her of when she was just starting out. "Everything went just fine," she replied. "There's still a little bit of work to do—you know, tying up loose ends, but it went well. Now, do you want to tell me what's keeping you up so late? Hmm?"

"Just a lot of thoughts, I guess—thoughts about stuff."

Now they were getting a little closer to the truth. "Thoughts about what kind of stuff?" She asked her. "Stuff at school?"

"Not school exactly," Jenna said."Mom—what do you think about long-distance relationships? I mean, not like friend and pen-pal stuff, but like a boy-girl relationship?"

"Do you mean Chris?" Amanda prompted. This must have been what was bothering Jenna at dinner the night before—the reason why she'd been so quiet. Jenna nodded. "What's going on?"

"Well, he said his mom's decided to move to California next month—she says she wants to be closer to her parents," Jenna said. "And Chris says that we can still text and email and stuff—that'll be just the same as always."

"That's what Chris says?" Her daughter nodded again. "What do you think?"

"I don't see how it can be the same," Jenna replied. "I mean it might be different if he was just going to college or vacation and I knew he'd be back, but he's moving for good—we won't be able to see each other at all."

"I see what you mean."

"Yeah," Jenna bit her lip. "I just—I don't know what to do. I don't want to tell him goodbye but I don't see how it can work this way. Does that make sense?"

"It makes sense." Amanda's mind went back to the relationships she'd had as a teen—how intense they could feel. She knew she had to tread very gently here. "Sweetheart, listen," she began. "You and Chris have been together a long time now, and you're very close." She drew in a deep breath. "But you might find—you both might find—that even though you stay close, it's okay to meet someone new."

"You mean find another boyfriend?"

"Sure. You're still young, you know—there's no harm in playing the field."

A faint smile. "That's the same thing Grandma said when I asked her."

Amanda laughed softly. "I think I heard the same thing from her myself when I was your age. Jenna, I know how much you care about Chris and I know you'll miss him, but that doesn't mean you can't care about someone else too."

"I guess," Jenna said uncertainly. "I'm just not sure how I feel about it all yet."

"Give it time," Amanda told her. "Chris is still coming to the restaurant for your birthday, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"Well you can talk about it then—there's still plenty of time." She watched as Jenna covered a yawn with the back of her hand. "Why don't you go to sleep now—we can talk about this more in the morning."

"Okay." Another yawn. "I am kind of tired. Good night, Mom—I love you."

Amanda stood. "Love you too, sweetheart." Bending over, she kissed Jenna's forehead. "Good night." She turned off the light and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

"Everything all right?" Lee asked. "I heard you two talking."

"Everything's fine," Amanda told him. "She just had some things on her mind, that's all."

He frowned. "Anything serious? Maybe I should—"

"Lee, trust me—it's just fine," Amanda said. "It's just that Chris might be moving away next month and she's a little anxious. I dealt with it."

"So just normal teenage stuff then? I shouldn't worry too much?"

"You shouldn't worry." Amanda wrapped her arms around Lee, pulling his body against her own. For a few moments they stayed like that, drawing strength from each others' closeness.

"Feels like it's been forever since we've done this," she said.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. You know what, Mrs. Stetson?"

"Hmm?" Amanda murmured.

"I think maybe we should go to bed."

"Yeah," Amanda agreed. "You know, the way I feel, I think I could stay there for a month or more."

"Well how about this?" Lee put his finger under her chin, tilting her head upwards so that her gaze met his own. "How about we sleep in, then I make us a little breakfast in bed, and we spend the rest of the morning just relaxing—maybe doing the crossword—celebrate a case well done. How does that sound?"

"Good." Amanda replied, running her hands lightly up and down his back. "Though between the two of us we might find something more entertaining than doing the crossword."

Lee smiled. "I like the way you think." His lips met hers in a brief but passionate kiss. Hand in hand they made their way down the hallway towards their bedroom.

A case well done, Amanda thought—that's exactly what it had been. There was still a lot of work to be done of course, but in the end the members of Karbala would be behind bars and the network destroyed forever.

'There's still Mrs. Murphy.' A voice seemed to whisper in Amanda's ear, sending a small chill through her body. 'She's still out there.' Determinedly she pushed those thoughts to the back of her head. They would find Mrs. Murphy, Amanda thought—find her and make her pay for her crimes.

She had to keep believing that.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

***For disclaimers, see Prologue. Made some corrections/additions in earlier chapters -my fault for posting while fuzzy-headed so if you reread hopefully it will be better. Thanks to all who have enjoyed this and more will be coming soon :) * **

**Treason and Old Lace-Epilogue**

**Red Onion State Prison, Wise County, VA**

**Thursday, January 28, 2005**

**1:30 PM**

"I don't believe this." Faisal Shahad stared at the prison guard in disbelief. "This is where I get to exercise?"

"For now," the guard replied. "If you earn more privileges you may be able to exercise outdoors."

Faisal gazed around the small concrete room. Sunlight poured in through a single small window high above—more sunlight than his cell provided, at any rate. "What sort of exercise am I supposed to do in here, exactly?"

The guard shrugged. "Whatever you want." He pointed. "You got a mat over there, pull up bar on the far wall and a couple of small weights—no weight machines allowed, of course. I lock you in, wait about an hour and then let you out again."

"But it's completely inadequate."

Another shrug. "Not my problem. I can always take you back to your cell if you like."

His cell—a small dark square with concrete furniture and a single slot in the door that they pushed his food through. Frankly, he'd rather die than go back there. "No thank you," he told the guard. "I'll be fine."

"I'll be back in an hour." The guard left—the door closed behind him with a clang.

Finally alone—he let out his breath in a whoosh, feeling a little of the tension subside. At that moment his eyes fastened on the camera on the corner of the ceiling—CCTV. You were never really alone, he thought—not in this place. And the way things were looking, he wouldn't be out of here anytime soon.

The black eye of the camera lens continued to stare down at him—if he didn't do something soon they might start to wonder. Faisal knelt down on the mat and started a series of push-ups. His mind went back to the conversation he'd had with his lawyer yesterday:

"The evidence the Department of Justice has against you and your network is quite substantial," he'd said to Faisal—barely meeting his gaze as he'd flipped through the huge mound paperwork in front of him. "I don't think the death penalty is going to come up in your case, but I think you're definitely looking at life imprisonment here." Faisal had almost asked the man if there was any point to having a defender if they weren't actually going to defend you but decided against it—the way things were shaping up it would be an exercise in futility.

Life imprisonment in a Supermax facility—this wasn't how he'd envisioned his future, not at all. Lying on his back he started a set of crunches.

Alice Murphy.

He could see still picture her when she'd come to his home to deliver the information she'd gathered. Every week at the same time—he had admired her promptness. And usually she'd bring a little goodie or two; brownies, cookies—and of course her tea—that wonderful sweet tea.

Had she been planning to sell them out all that time? Faisal wondered. Or had she simply done it to save herself? And how had she retrieved the information to bring the entire network down? So many questions and no answers.

He would get some answers, though, he thought. No matter what he had to do or how long it took to do it. Somehow he would figure it out and find Mrs. Murphy, Faisal vowed—and when he did, she would pay dearly.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**Soldier's Relief Fund Headquarters, Washington DC **

**2:15 PM **

"I really must thank you," Blair Foster said. "Now that you've closed that ring down maybe we can get back to the actual work we do." She shook her head. "Though I'm still finding all of this so hard to believe. Mrs. Maxwell and her volunteers always seemed so dedicated and caring. To think that they would do a thing like this—" her voice trailed off. "Mother would've been so ashamed."

"You really shouldn't feel bad," Amanda reassured the younger woman. "She fooled a lot of people."

"And you're sure that you caught everyone? Everyone who was involved?" Blair asked.

"Yes," Lee said. "There were about seven in all. A smaller ring has less chance of discovery."

Blair nodded. "Yes that does make sense. I'm just glad that you were able to stop it and save our organization's good name," she paused. "Have you had any luck in locating her? Mrs. Maxwell?"

"Not yet," Amanda said. "But we'll keep looking."

"Good," Blair replied. "It will make me happy to know that she's behind bars for good."

"Believe me," Lee said. "We feel the same way—we're not giving up."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**Carnival Cruise Ship**

**Monday, February 1, 2005**

**5:30 PM**

Where to go from here?

Alice Murphy sat at her table on the deck of the cruise ship, looking over the clear blue waters of the Pacific while she sipped her tea. She had taken this vacation on a whim—boarded her cat, Mr. Whiskers, at a very nice kennel—promising lots of extra toys and attention later to make up for her absence. But as much as she missed him it had been worth it—after all the trouble she'd been through making her getaway and establishing a new identity, she felt that she deserved a little treat. A seven-day cruise to the Mexican Riviera had seemed to fit the bill perfectly.

The only problem was that she couldn't stay on vacation forever—sooner or later she had to make a decision about what to do with her life.

More soldiers' organizations? Probably not—there was nothing more to be gained in that field and besides too many people were looking for her. She could retire of course, but she wasn't ready for that—at least not yet.

There had to be something.

"Excuse me, but is this seat taken?"

The man's voice broke into her thoughts. Mrs. Murphy looked up to see a tall man with grey hair and very blue eyes, smiling down at her.

"This seat is definitely not taken," she told him.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm very sure."

His smile widened. "Much obliged—the name's George Carey." He extended his hand.

"Ali—I mean, Esther Pyne." She gave an inward wince as she stumbled over the name—she'd chosen something very different this time and she had to admit that she was still having trouble with it. "Well my first name is Allison but I go by Esther—I always have. It's lovely to meet you, Mr. Carey."

"Well I like the name Allison," George said. "But I like Esther too. Very nice to meet you." He took the seat beside her. For a few moments they sat in companionable silence, looking out over the deck—the blue waters of the Pacific almost seemed to sparkle in the sunlight— the seagulls circled and dived in the water.

"Tell me, is this your first cruise?" he asked her, breaking the silence.

Mrs. Murphy nodded. "First of many, at least I hope," she replied. "Though I have to say that I was a bit nervous—I really wasn't sure what to expect." She glanced over at him. "Is this your first as well, Mr. Carey?"

"Please, call me George," he told her. "And yeah, this is my first one. My sister recommended it—she said with all the hours that I work I deserved to take some time off." He stretched his arms over his head. "I have to say that I'm beginning to think she was right."

"Well that's a coincidence—you could say that I'm here because of my sister as well." He looked at her in surprise and she rushed to explain. "My younger sister Estelle—she'd always wanted to go on one of these cruises, but unfortunately she passed away last—last month." She let her voice falter slightly towards the end of the sentence—tears filling her eyes. "It was a very sudden illness—I miss her very much."

"I'm so sorry," he said, touching her hand briefly.

"Thank you," she sniffled. "I'm taking this cruise as a sort of homage to her—it's the least I can do. But enough about me—what about you? What do you do?"

"I work for a small pharmaceutical company out of Seattle."

"In sales?"

He shook his head. "That's what everybody thinks. What I actually work in is research—helping to develop new drugs to be put out on the market. I'm semi-retired—though my sister would like me to retire for good. I hope I'm not boring you."

"No, you're not boring me at all." Developing drugs, Esther thought—all this time she'd been looking for something she could do and now something had practically fallen into her lap. She'd have to work out the particulars, of course—but this could work out very well indeed. "Actually, I'd like to hear more about you and your work. Could we perhaps meet later this evening—perhaps for dinner?"

"I'd like that very much, Esther," George said. "I'm glad to have met you."

Mrs. Murphy smiled. "Likewise."


End file.
